


A Touch of Change

by AniRay



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings Realization, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AniRay/pseuds/AniRay
Summary: She always tapped. No matter her mood or his. He’d call for her in that tone he used and she’d start tapping. Her finger, her foot, didn’t matter. And when they were done he’d watch her. He’d not noticed before, but he noticed now, the routine she followed. He’d watched her. She’d go to the washroom, wash him off of her. Then she’d put on her robe and leave the room. She’d come back a while later with a cup of tea- he could always smell the whiskey in it, though.It was familiar to him, that routine. Hadn’t he watched her do it dozens of times?Back when she’d been his whore and not his wife.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 32





	1. I

He walked into his bedroom, mind flooded with plans and strategy. A man had been watching him in parliament lately. Alfie wasn’t as dead as the world believed- though, it was never a sure thing, was it. Michael was fighting his leash, making choices Tommy couldn’t easily dismiss. The family was off, everyone retreating into their own corners. And always there was the itch under his skin, the ache of missing her. It was all too much, too fucking loud, and the dope wasn’t enough to quiet it anymore.

By rote his hands moved to his tie, loosening the knot and pulling it free. His cufflinks were next to go. They looked like the ones he’d had before the war, but they cost five times as much. He stared at them where they sat on his dressing table. Deceptive things, hiding their value behind their simplicity. Used to be him that was like that. Not now, not anymore. Wasn’t sure what he was anymore.

The door opened. He didn’t turn, only Lizzie’d be coming in at this time of night. And only Lizzie would forego knocking. He wasn’t sure when she’d stopped knocking at the door, honestly. He shrugged his shirt off and tossed it onto a chair. It was in Lizzie’s hand when she stepped into his line of sight. He watched, absently, as she hung it in the wardrobe.

Then she was moving to her vanity, taking off her jewelry. That caught his attention. She didn’t wear jewelry much. Not since they got married. But she was wearing a diamond and ruby bracelet and she’d rubies in her ears. Her dress was one of the nicer ones- the type she only bought when he told her to. It was late, he realized, and she was only just getting in. “Where were you?”

She glanced at him through the vanity mirror. Not the one Grace had used- that was in the attic. “Dinner with Mrs. Whithe. She’s offered to introduce me to her daughter’s dance instructor for Ruby.” He blinked, trying to remember a man named Whithe. He vaguely recalled a fat man with thin hair and a wife nearly half his age. “She likes to dance, Ruby,” she said. It was hesitant, though, like he wouldn’t want to know.

She wasn’t wrong. Ruby was only just coming up on her fourth birthday. Her liking dance now didn’t mean much. And him knowing wouldn’t help with business. A new instructor was one more stranger coming into the house, another person who might hear too much. But it was too late now, wasn’t it. “Fine.” He stepped out of his trousers and tossed them onto the chair. Lizzie picked them up and put them away. He went to the bed and sat down. “Come here.”

Lizzie paused. He didn’t say anything. She’d come. She always did. And after another moment she turned and moved to stand in front of him. “Tommy…” He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. “Why?” New, that. She’d never asked him that before. He locked eyes with her for a long moment. But there was no reason, really. His head was mucked up, he’d not fucked in a few days. And she’d married him, hadn’t she? The two went together- marriage and fucking.

His hands slid up her sides. “Need a reason, now?” She turned her head away. He might have wondered about that, but it didn’t matter. He’d stop if she asked (always had, always would) but she wasn’t. His fingers moved to the clasp of her dress. He paused then, fingers toying with the fabric a bit, waited for her to look at him. Then he pulled his hands away. Lizzie reached up and undid her dress.

He watched, eyes skimming absently over her body as the dress fell. Tomorrow he’d call Margate. He needed to check in on Alfie. Then he’d call Michael. Figure out what the fuck he was doing. His hands went back to Lizzie as he stood up. He turned her around so her back was to him. She crawled onto the bed, hand going between her legs to get herself ready. He was already half hard. A quick stroke of his hand and he’d be ready.

It still surprised him how little she had to do for him to get hard.

Going onto her hands and knees Lizzie looked back at him over her shoulder. Tommy reached out, grabbed her waist with one hand. He pulled his cock out of his shorts with the other. He waited for her nod before sinking into her from behind. She pressed her face into one of the pillows. Tommy relaxed a bit more. It was easier this way, not seeing her face while they fucked.

She was tight, warm and soft. And wet. Not enough. His cock was hurting her, he knew. But it was enough she wouldn’t complain. And he liked the bit of friction. Helped clear the mess from his head. His hand tightened on her waist as he pulled her hips tight against him. He pulled out and slid back in. Not gentle, but just slow enough to let her get used to him. She nodded again.

Then his eyes went to the wall above her head. He thrust his hips forward and sunk his cock in hard- deep. Pulled out and did it again, faster. Set a rhythm. Fast and hard, hips moving just so. His hands were tight at her waist pulling her into him. They’d done this enough he barely had to think about it. Knew how to bend her to make it feel a bit better for her. Knew the way she moved against him. It'd take a while for him to finish with his head like this, though. Not the right state of mind.

(Not the right woman, either.)

Tommy closed his eyes and let Grace’s face fill his mind. He thought of the smoothness of her skin and the scent of her perfume. He rolled his tongue, tried to remember the taste of her there. And it was good. Fuck it was good. His head fell back as he went deeper, pleasure building slowly. A small sound broke him from his fantasy. He didn’t look. He knew Lizzie had her hand between her legs again.

Her cunt grasped at him a bit tighter. He pushed in a little faster. The bed creaked a bit. He’d have someone oil the springs. Lizzie whimpered. The staff said she’d stopped eating supper. His hands slid up to her ribs. She felt a bit thinner. He’d ask her about it. Didn’t need anyone thinking he couldn’t feed his fucking wife. He was close, now. Tommy pulled her up a bit, changed the angle. He let a hand wrap about and find her tit. His fingers pinched her nipple and she clamped down tight around him. She pushed into him harder, trying to get him off. It worked. He came, spilling into her through the vice grip she had on his cock.

His hand fell away from her tit as he caught his breath. Pleasure wrapped around every part of him. His muscles were weak and relaxed. And finally his head was clear. No buzzing, no thoughts, nothing but quiet. It’d be gone soon, so he didn’t pull away. Just let himself sink into the quiet for a bit.

He was bent over Lizzie’s back, hands braced on the bed to keep him up a bit. His breathing came in harsh pants when he opened his eyes. Her head was turned toward him. He almost looked away. He didn’t like looking at her after they fucked any more than he liked looking at her during. But he caught a small movement. Her hand was almost hidden by the pillow she’d been lying on, but he saw it. Her finger was tapping against the bed. Steady, timed, familiar. He forced himself to look at her eyes. She was staring off to the side, expression falsely pleasant. A chill rolled down his spine.

He stood up straight, pulling his cock from the warmth of her body. “Sit up.” His voice was cold, but he felt a sliver of panic making it shake a bit. She’d not notice, but he did. Slowly, finger still tapping, Lizzie sat up. She turned around so they faced each other, confused look on her face. But still her finger tapped out a steady rhythm. He nodded to her hand, “How much do I owe you?”

She froze.

Her eyes went to her side. He watched her as realization came to her eyes. But she didn’t turn away in shame. She didn’t flinch or try to apologize. “Feels like before. Guess instinct took over.” He tensed at that. She didn’t. She shrugged her shoulders as if she hadn’t just said that being fucked by her husband felt the same as when she’d been whoring. As if she hadn’t been counting the time. As if she wasn’t calculating how much he’d owe her at the end of a fucking hour. Another shrug, “Sorry.”

But she wasn’t. Not really. His eyes narrowed on her for a long moment. “So how much?” She rolled her eyes. “Used to be four pence for an hour, yeah? But that was before. You’re respectable now, can charge more.” She turned cold, angry eyes on him at that. “What would a high end girl charge, then?” He was pushing, he shouldn’t have been pushing. But fuck her. Fuck her for letting him see. Fuck her for the guilt welling under his skin.

Fuck her for being vulnerable when he didn’t want to see her that way.

She slid from the bed and marched angrily over to her vanity. She grabbed her silk robe and slid it on. Then she walked to the bedroom door. “The going rate for a man of your status is two pounds. Leave it on the vanity.” She yanked open the door before turning back to him, tears bright in her eyes, “And fuck you, Thomas. I won’t apologize for not being Grace for the rest of this fucking marriage.”

She closed the door behind her gently.

Seemed louder than if she’d slammed it.

-

He started watching her when they fucked.

She always tapped. No matter her mood or his. He’d call for her in that tone he used and she’d start tapping. Her finger, her foot, didn’t matter. And when they were done he’d watch her. He’d not noticed before, but he noticed now, the routine she followed. He’d watched her. She’d go to the washroom, wash him off of her. Then she’d put on her robe and leave the room. She’d come back a while later with a cup of tea- he could always smell the whiskey in it, though.

It was familiar to him, that routine.

Hadn’t he watched her do it dozens of times? Back when she’d been his whore and not his wife. He’d asked her about it back then and she’d told him. _‘It helps me settle back into my skin after.’_ He’d not gone back to her for a month after that. And now it was happening again in his own fucking house. But even seeing it, even knowing what it meant, he couldn’t be any different.

Anger burned under his skin when they fucked now. There was no more quiet when he came. No, it’d been replaced by this guilt instead. Because even if she wasn’t the woman he wanted, should she feel like a whore in her marriage bed? But he couldn’t give her anything else. What was there to give? Him touching her the way he’d touched Grace? Him _loving_ her the way he loved Grace? No, never that. Even if he’d wanted to, Tommy’d never give her that.

He watched her, laid across the bed before him. He pulled up his shorts while Lizzie rubbed herself to completion. It was a little thing, the way she came. A quick gasp before biting her lip. Her cheeks would flush a bit as her toes curled against the sheets. Then a deep breath and a slow blink and it was over. She focused on him as she came back to herself. “What?” Her voice held the smallest tremor.

He turned and walked to his dressing table. He pulled out his wallet even as some rational part of his brain cursed his every move. He pulled out two pounds and walked back to the bed. Lizzie was frozen, propped up on her elbows and watching him like he was poison. And wasn’t he? Toxic to everything he touched? He tossed the money onto the bed between her legs. “For the hour.”

She sat up slowly. He watched as she reached out, head high and eyes burning. She picked up the money and folded it carefully. Then she got up on her knees and crawled towards him. He waited for the slap, waited for the cursing. But there was nothing. “One day, Tommy, you’re gonna tell me what I did for you to hate me this much.” She got down from the bed and walked to his dressing table. She dropped the money on it, gathered her robe and left the room.

His eyes stayed on the money she’d left behind. Shame flooded him, but it didn’t last. Anger pushed it away, shoved it down deep. She didn’t ask for anything. She didn’t spend his money frivolously. She held him when he’d nightmares. She looked the other way with business. She fucked him even though she knew who was in his head and his heart. She loved him and never asked him to love her back- didn’t even hope for it. She didn’t even fucking hope.

And that’s why he hated her.

-

It was different that night.

He’d been drinking. And he’d taken a sip from the little brown bottle he kept in his office. His head wasn’t so loud with the alcohol drowning it. So when he saw her lying in their bed, he didn’t hate her for not being Grace. He didn’t want to use her to quiet his thoughts. No, he looked at her as herself. Lizzie- dark haired and green eyed, with long legs. Lizzie- soft, and kind, and with good tits.

He shrugged out of his shirt and stumbled a bit getting his trousers off. But his eyes stayed on the woman in his bed. Warm and nice with a tight, wet, pretty cunt. Did she have a pretty cunt? He’d never looked, had he? Couldn’t remember. He’d look. He took an unsteady step towards the bed. “Lizzie…” She turned over from where she’d had her back to him. Her eyes looked odd. Shiny. Was she crying? “Is Pretty Lizzie crying?” She was pretty, wasn’t she?

“You’re high.”

She sounded annoyed. But he didn’t like that. He didn’t want her annoyed. He wanted to see if her cunt was as pretty as the rest of her. “Lizzie. Don’t be mad.” She hummed something, but he didn’t know what. Didn’t matter, anyway. He wrapped a hand around her ankle and tugged. She rolled over then, eyes wide. “Don’t be mad, Lizzie.” He tugged again, pulled her closer. She sat up and that was good. That was really good. Made things easier, that.

“Tommy what-”

He pressed his lips to her neck. His tongue peeked out a bit, just to taste her. He’d done this before, a long time ago. But she tasted the same. She tasted warm and a bit salty. _It’s good. I like it._ He pulled back so that they were face to face. She was biting her lip and her brows were knitted together. She looked confused. She didn’t like it- meant he wasn’t doing this right. His hand came up to rest against her cheek, his thumb tugging her lip free.

“Tommy… What are you doing?”

His brows furrowed. She didn’t know? She should know. He leaned in and kissed her. He brushed his lips against hers softly, so not to startle her. She seemed nervous, Lizzie. But she felt good. His eyes slipped shut. _So good_. He wanted more. He brought his other hand up to settle at the back of her neck. The hand on her cheek moved to her jaw. He tapped the bone with his finger and she parted her lips for him.

_Good. This is good._

His tongue slipped inside. She gasped a bit. He liked it. Made him press a little closer to her. Made him tighten his grip on her neck. He explored her mouth with his tongue, learned the taste of her. He’d known it once. He’d forgotten. _How’d I forget, this?_ Faintly he heard a voice whisper to him. _‘Happy or sad?’_ It made him hurt. He didn’t want to hurt. He wanted to taste Lizzie. So he pushed the voice away. He let himself go back to exploring Lizzie, listening to the little sounds she kept making.

Lizzie’s tongue flicked against his. But it was hesitant, like she wasn’t sure it was the right thing. It was- it was the right thing. He teased her, made her chase him a bit. Her hand came up and slid into his hair, tugging the longer strands. That made his cock throb. It’d been getting hard, but he’d ignored it. Now, he couldn’t anymore- didn’t want to.

He took the hand at her neck and moved it to the bed. Then he leaned forward slowly, pushing her back down to the sheets. Her other hand landed on his chest, over his tattoo. She liked that tattoo, he remembered, always traced it when he was falling asleep. But then she parted her legs to make a space for him and he forgot about the tattoo. His cock was pressed against her. She was warm and wet through the layers of her nightgown and his shorts.

“Need you, Lizzie.” She lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her kiss turned a bit needier, then. And Tommy’s head cleared a bit. He pulled back, eyes blinking open in time to see her chase after his lips. He dropped a quick kiss to her lips to satisfy her and she smiled. He liked it, seeing Lizzie smile under him this way. That hurt feeling nudged at him again. He paused for a second, almost let his mind wander to that dark place. But then Lizzie opened her eyes. She looked happy, and he liked her happy. So he didn’t go to the dark place. He stayed with Lizzie.

He leaned in close, his weight on his forearms. One hand brushed her hair away from her face, then cupped her cheek. The other hand slid to her shoulder, nudging the thin strap of her nightgown aside. His lips were pressed to the soft skin there a moment later. His cock pulsed, she rubbed against him. He kissed the curve of her neck. The prettiest sigh left Lizzie’s parted lips. He’d never heard that from her before- not ever.

Slowly, so slowly, Tommy trailed a line of kisses from her shoulder and down to the jut of her collarbone. The fabric of her nightgown was in the way, though. He sat up a bit, brought Lizzie up with him. Lizzie blinked at him with lust-heavy eyes. Then she was pulling her gown over her head. Tommy’s hands went to her waist, gliding up the soft, firm flesh slowly. He cupped her breasts in his hands, thumbs playing with the nipples. Lizzie’s head fell back on a sigh. But he didn’t let that, or the sight of her, distract him.

He laid her back down on the sheets. His mouth went back to her collarbones, kissing along them. Then going lower. Lizzie’s hands went to his shoulders as he kissed circles around her breasts. His hands moved to her sides, holding her down when she arched up into him. He licked and nipped at her nipples, making her twitch and moan. She’d soaked through his shorts. Made the friction better when she rubbed herself against him.

Her hands slipped between them, pushing his shorts down. Then her hand was wrapped around him, stroking him slowly. His hips jerked forwards and he bit down on her nipple harder than he meant to. But the pain had Lizzie gripping him tighter, tugging harder. Made his head fuzzy- fuzzier than the dope and the drink and Lizzie’s happy smile. She widened her thighs a bit and guided his head to her entrance. _So wet. So good._ She rocked up so he slipped inside. He groaned. “Lizzie.” His breath hitched as he sunk into her deeper. “ Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie…” _Could it have been like this always?_

He pushed that thought away- it brought the hurt.

She set the pace, Lizzie did. Slow, but hard. Steady and strong and so fucking good. He met her rhythm, met her every move. But his hands stayed light as they moved over her. His lips and tongue worked her gently. And it was the same for her. Her hands ran through his hair gently. She trailed her fingers along his spine with feather-light touches. It was nice and easy mixed with desperate and rough.

His head cleared a bit more, the drugs wearing off. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t go faster or try and stop the intimacy. Because that’s what it was- intimacy. It made his skin prick, that. But he moved through it. A flash of gold caught his eye. He knew. He knew it was her, that she was watching him. But he forced himself not to look. Because it’d been good, this. It’d been good being with Lizzie like this. It was good when he wasn’t thinking and letting his head get in the way.

And he liked seeing Lizzie smile.

He lifted his head from where he’d rested it on Lizzie’s chest. He took in the way her lips were parted and the way her face was relaxed and the way she looked fucking _happy._ He’d never seen her like this, so…open in her pleasure. He pressed into her harder, watched her eyes fly open and her breath catch on a startled, “ _Tommy!”_ Felt her nails bite into his skin. Felt Grace’s eyes on him. Felt a prick of guilt settle into his chest. Harder to push away than the hurt. Harder to ignore with those blue eyes waiting for him to look over.

He looked over. Just barely. Just for a second. And there she was wearing the dress she’d worn on their wedding day. Her hair long like it’d been when they first met. And her eyes… He looked away, guilt clawing at him. Pain flooding through him. His eyes met Lizzie’s for a moment. He hadn’t noticed her hand on his cheek. But he felt it now- it burned. And he saw the concern in her eyes. Watched it turn to something else- something harder. Her hand fell away. She turned her head to the side.

Her hand dropped between them. Her fingers wrapped tight around the base of him. She sped up a bit. Tears came to her eyes. But she didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask him what happened. The guilt flared brighter. But this time for Lizzie being hurt as well as betraying Grace. Because she’d been smiling and now she was trying not to let him see her cry. He hadn’t even said anything. He hadn’t changed his pace or the force of his thrusts. But she’d seen and she’d known.

She let go of his cock.

Pleasure shot through him, flooded him, _drowned_ him. His hips jerked against her, cock pulsing inside her as he came. His breath was a broken, ragged, thing. His head dropped to her chest, his hands fisted the sheets tight enough his fingers went numb. And when his head cleared, when he could breathe again, he tasted blood in his mouth. From biting his tongue. To keep from calling Grace’s name.

Lizzie pushed him off of her.

Tommy sat up- watched as she walked to her vanity and picked up her robe. Grace was standing next to it. Fucking hurt seeing them stand next to each other- one real, one only real to him. Lizzie went into the washroom. He listened to her clean him off of her- like he was one of her johns again. She stepped back into the bedroom. He watched her walk to the door. It was familiar, the hurt and anger in her eyes, the way she held her head up despite both. “I won’t let you keep hurting me, Tommy.” Then she was gone.

Grace came toward him.

He turned away…

But she didn’t leave.


	2. II

“It’s so strange to be doing this. I see him talking to you all the time. But then he actually misses you.” He paused just inside of his office. Lizzie was stood at the base of the steps looking up at the portrait of Grace he refused to take down. “Just wanted to say congrats. I’ve loved that man for years- longer than you knew him. Loved him through Greta and a war and after, too.” He winced at the mention of Greta. She’d have been ashamed of the man he was- of the way he treated his own wife. “But even with me right there, he never did see me. And even Greta didn’t have him like you did. Like you still do.”

Tommy took in the resigned expression on Lizzie’s face. Something sharp slid between his ribs. He didn’t like that look. He’d seen men in France with that look. He’d seen women with that same look a week or two before he’d seen them at the whorehouse. Nothing good ever came from that look. And now he was seeing it on Lizzie.

“Can’t divorce him. No solicitor here will take me. Can’t afford the ones in London- not yet.” The breath died in his lungs. He tried to imagine the house without Lizzie. Tried to imagine the breakfast table with just him and Charlie again. Tried to imagine not hearing Ruby laughing in the nursery. “But that’s alright. The place he got me before the election will work just fine for me and my girl.” _Her girl._ Had he ever made her think Ruby was more than just hers? “The house’ll be all yours again. And he was never mine so no worries there, I guess.”

She turned and started up the stairs.

“Lizzie.” He pretended not to see the way her shoulders tensed and her hands curled into fists. She turned around easily, as if she hadn’t just been talking to his dead wife. As if she hadn’t just told a ghost that she was leaving him. “You alright?” Her eyes darted to the portrait for a second before coming back to him. A hint of guilt was in her eyes, but only for a moment. She nodded. It bothered him a bit- the lie. Felt like…

He didn’t know what it felt like.

-

He watched her more. Lizzie. He watched and he listened. But she never mentioned leaving. Never said anything about moving back to the house he’d bought for her. Every morning she sat at the table for breakfast. She cut Ruby’s food into smaller bits. She reminded Charlie to use his napkin. It was all the same as always. Nothing changed and it made him tense, the waiting.

But finally Tommy heard something. Not from Lizzie, though. No, instead he heard it from Charlie. His son had come bursting into his office, tears in his eyes. “Why’s Ruby moving away? I don’t want her to leave! She’s my sister!” Tommy paused, hand hovering over the drawer that held his gun. He took a second to understand what was happening and what wasn’t. Then he focused on what Charlie’d said.

“What?”

His son slowed down then, almost dragging his feet in crossing to Tommy’s desk. “Ruby. She said- Well she told me that her and Lizzie are going away.” Tommy forced himself to stay seated, not to go find Lizzie and demand answers. He nodded for Charlie to go on. “Ruby said that they were gonna stay at Lizzie’s old house, just them. But I don’t want Ruby to go. Or Lizzie.”

Tommy took a deep breath. He let his son’s words settle a bit. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that she’d told Ruby they were leaving and she hadn’t fucking told him- her fucking husband. He stood up and stepped around his desk. “Don’t worry, Charlie. I’ll talk to Ruby. She’ll not be leaving. Lizzie either.” His son gave a sigh of relief that felt like it should be too big for a lad his size. Said a lot, how upset Charlie was. He held out his hand to his boy. “C’mon, then. Let’s go tell Ruby she’s staying.”

He felt Grace watching him as he climbed the stairs.

He didn’t let himself look at her.

-

“It’s better if I leave now.”

Tommy didn’t look at her, didn’t move, barely fucking took a breath.

“If I wait, if I let her get more attached to you and this place… I don’t want it to be harder on her than it has to be.” Said a lot that, Lizzie wanting to go before Ruby got more attached to _him_. “I don’t imagine you’ll come out that way much. Want to get her used to it being just the two of us.” As if her moving meant he’d never see her again. As if he’d let his kid grow up without him.

He kept his eyes on the ceiling. Watched the shadow from a tree dance across his vision. “Do I get a say?” Lizzie turned to him slowly. Her eyes were wary, her body tensed for a blow. Not physical- she knew him better than that, at least. But a sinking feeling filled his gut. She knew he’d not lay a hand on her. And she knew- knew in a way he’d never thought of – that he’d hurt her every other kind of way. Knew because she’d lived it. Knew because how many fucking times had he disappointed her, put her fucking last, not gotten to her quick enough. He could see the pain in her eyes as she’d leveled his gun at him at Epsom.

“Didn’t think you’d want a say. Didn’t think…you’d care.”

_Fucking hell._ “Fucking hell, Lizzie.” He ran his hand down his face. Dug his fists into his eyes. Tried to stop the guilt and the shame and the fucking _ache_ building in his chest- fighting for space. “Of course I care. She’s my kid. I’m not letting her leave. And you’re- fuck Lizzie, you’re-” He turned in time to catch the anger cross her face. “Fuck,” he whispered. He turned back to the ceiling. Couldn’t stand to look at her- couldn’t stand to see how badly he’d made a mess of this.

“I won’t leave her here.” There was a fierceness to her voice that startled him. He’d not heard it before. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “I’ll not let you make her feel less than Charlie with no one to tell her she matters.” He froze. Every part of him grew still. “I won’t let you ignore her because she’s got the wrong mother.” He didn’t know what the fuck to say to that. Because he’d blamed her, hadn’t he? For Ruby’s dark hair and smile and a million other things that weren’t like what he’d imagined for if he and Grace had a girl.

Unbidden an image of his mother came to him. Her sad eyes watched as his father came home smelling of another woman’s perfume. He’d watched, Tommy had, as his mother had pretended not to notice, pretended not to be hurt. And he’d sworn, he’d _sworn_ , that no matter what he’d never be the reason his wife looked like that. And Lizzie’d been looking like that since before he proposed.

“I wouldn’t do that to her.”

“You already do.”

-

He stopped looking for Grace.

She still came to him. And on bad days he’d still take a bit more laudanum than he should just to feel her close. But it wasn’t as often as it’d been. He’d taken some of her pictures down. Not the big one over the stairs. Felt wrong to take that one down. Charlie hadn’t noticed. Tommy hadn’t known how to feel about that. Ada said it was because the big picture had stayed. Polly said it was because he’d been the only one still lost in missing her.

Lizzie hadn’t said anything- she rarely did when it came to Grace.

-

Tommy made sure to visit the nursery more.

It was strange how often he’d pass by when Ruby was in there and not even look in. So now, he made sure Ruby knew he came to see _her_ as well as Charlie. The first time he’d done more than peek his head in Ruby’d acted like he was a stranger. Proved Lizzie was right. Proved he was as shitty a father as his own had been. Not even four and more used to being ignored by her father than not. Three weeks in and she still looked surprised when he sat next to her instead of Charlie.

Three weeks and she still looked confused when he told her he loved her.

-

“Get dressed. Something nice.”

Lizzie looked up from where she’d been reading in bed. She struggled with her words still, but that was why she read so much. Said it helped her remember the words when they were in a story. Laying the book to the side, Lizzie bit her lip. He could see the hesitation, the confusion, in her eyes. He tried not to let it bother him. That was getting harder as time went on. But finally she pulled back the covers and got to her feet. She stood beside the bed, fingers fidgeting at her sides. “Didn’t know there was an event tonight.”

He didn’t let himself flinch. “There’s not.” The confusion in her eyes grew. He’d taken May out, just them. Even Jessie Eden had gotten one real night out with him. Lizzie couldn’t say the same. “Trust me, eh? Get dressed. The blue dress you wore to Ada’s party. Meet me downstairs in thirty minutes.” He expected her to argue about the time. Ada would’ve. Polly, too, probably. But not Lizzie. No, she just nodded- slow and unsure. “Good. Thirty minutes.” He left her standing by the bed, watching him a bit too closely.

She came down before he expected her. But he wasn’t surprised. It was usually him making her wait, not the other way around. He took in the blue dress she was wearing. It fit her well. He hadn’t noticed before. Not the way he was noticing now. She was lovely- graceful and proud. She stopped in front of him, fingers tapping- _counting_ \- against her thigh. His hand curled into a fist to keep from grabbing hers. “What’s the plan, then?”

“Dinner. A dance or two. Maybe take a bit of a walk.”

He swept her out the door before she could say anything.

-

It was awkward. Lizzie kept watching him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Her expression was schooled into the polite mask she wore at functions, but her eyes gave away her wariness. It made it hard for him. For once pushing Lizzie out of his mind wasn’t as easy as it usually was. For once he wanted her to speak to him. But it had been a long time, he realized, since she had actually spoken to him about anything not related to business or the children.

Tommy turned his attention to the room they were in. It was nice. Reds and creams and golds made the space feel rich but not overdone. It was set a bit off from the main part of the restaurant. It was the kind of place he wouldn’t have been let into a few years ago. Now he could afford to come any night he wished. And that night he’d wanted it for the privacy. But now Tommy wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to have a bit of distraction.

“So?” Tommy looked at Lizzie. Her finger tapped steadily against her wine glass. She was still counting. She was still in that place- the one where she was his whore and not his wife. He took a drink of his whiskey to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth. Her brow was arched in question. He pretended that he didn’t know what she was asking. “What’s this about, then? Why are we here?”

He thought he saw gold curls out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t turn to look. “Can I not take my wife out for a meal?” The tapping paused for a moment. He felt her judging his words, weighing them against their past. She decided she didn’t believe him. “You want a divorce.” He caught the way Lizzie tensed, saw the way her breathe caught. She stared at him for a long moment. “Figure if my wife wants to leave me I should at least figure out why first.”

She lowered her gaze, choosing to stare at her plate instead of look at him. “Just thought… Why make things harder than they have to be.” He tilted his head in question, though he didn’t quite want to hear what she had to say. “You don’t want me. And I’m sick of feeling unwanted in my own home. Least before we got married I didn’t have to live with a ghost- or his dead wife.” He just managed not to flinch. “So that why you brought me? To tell me you’re divorcing me?”

“No.” She looked up then, waiting for him to say more. But he didn’t. The chills of Grace’s fingers were running along his nape. The scent of her perfume was clouding his head. He just barely kept from flinching, from brushing her hand away. He just barely stopped himself from reaching to pull her closer. He focused on Lizzie- on the wary look that she had reserved for him alone. “It’s a date, Lizzie. A night out, just the two of us. Figured you deserved a good time for once.”

Her gaze shifted away from him as he spoke. Her brow furrowed in thought or confusion, he couldn’t say which. He watched her finger tap against the tablecloth. Wondered if he asked would she know what he owed her or if the tapping was just habit. He didn’t ask. He already knew the answer.

“I think, Tom, that maybe we should go back to Arrow House.” Her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth and there was a tension in the way she held herself he hadn’t seen for a long time. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you I’d not let you play games with me anymore.”

“Lizzie-“

“And what’s this, but a cruel game? I’m not her. I fucking know. You’ve made it clear, alright? I’m just pathetic little Lizzie wishing for a man who’ll never want her. Just Lizzie, the whore who fell for her john. The stupid, stupid girl who thought maybe Tommy Shelby could learn to care for her.” He felt a burning in his chest- realized he’d been holding his breath. “But you’re wrong to play _this_ game. You’re wrong to try and get my hopes up when there’s nothing for it but pain at the end. So get up, pay the fucking cheque and stop pretending.”

He watched her stand. He watched her step out of the private room. He watched as the boy who’d taken their coats helped Lizzie into hers- like she was a real lady. Because the only one who ever treated her like she wasn’t anymore was her own husband. The waiter stepped into the room, silently asking if the evening was over. It was. Tommy stood, pulled his wallet out and threw money onto the table. Didn’t bother to count it- didn’t fucking matter, did it. Then he followed after his wife.

She turned away, pretended she didn’t see, when he offered her his arm

-

“What’d you do, Thomas?”

He looked up to find his aunt glaring at him from his office door. It’d been a while since she’d come to his house unannounced. Even longer since she’d come willingly. And he’d no idea what she was on about at the moment. So he turned back to his work. “I’m a busy man, Pol. Done a lot lately.” He didn’t have to look to know she wasn’t impressed.

“Lizzie’s been off for days. And don’t think I don’t know she’d been going to her old place at night instead of coming here.” Tommy paused in his writing. He remembered that first night, the night after he’d taken her out. He remembered the nanny bundling Ruby into the car and watching as she’d ridden off to meet Lizzie. He remembered waiting for them to come back that night and having the sun arrive before they did. “So again, I ask. What’d you do?”

He lifted his head to look at the woman standing before him. At some point she’d closed the door and marched up to stand in front of his desk. It was moments like this he remembered just where he’d gotten his stubbornness. “I took her on a date, Polly.” His aunt raised a brow. “Yeah, big sin, that. Took my fucking wife for a night out.”

Pol narrowed her eyes at the sarcasm. He watched as she thought over what he’d said. And he knew she was remembering all the times he’d wished for Grace. All the times he’d treated Lizzie like she was still just his secretary- or his whore. Knew she was thinking of all the ways he’d done Lizzie wrong. “Did you try to turn her out? Last _date_ you took her to was Epsom, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t flinch, he _didn’t_.

“No,” he seethed. “ I didn’t turn her out. I took her for a real date, just the two of us. No business, no kids, just us.” Polly stared him down waiting for more details. But he wouldn’t be giving her any. This was more than she needed to know. His marriage wasn’t for Pol to pick over and judge. It’d be fine. _They’d_ be fine, him and Lizzie. “I’m busy, Pol. If you want to know about where Lizzie sleeps, you should talk to Lizzie.”

“I’ll say this once, Thomas, and it’ll be the end of it.” He took a breath, braced for a blow. “That girl has loved you through too much to be chased out of her house by a dead woman.”

Anger flooded through him. It washed away the guilt and the worry and everything else he’d been feeling about the situation with Lizzie. And he was on his feet, hands braced against the desk as he leaned in close to the woman across from him. “Don’t.” The word was quiet and hard. “Don’t fucking talk about my wife. She’s more than every other woman combined,” he seethed.

Pol didn’t move.

“Yes. Lizzie is.”

Then she was gone.

-

He went to Lizzie’s place the next night. Used the key he’d never used before to get in. He followed the sound of Ruby’s laughter to the kitchen. Lizzie had their girl on the table and was mixing something in a bowl. They both had flour on their noses and bright smiles. It hurt to know Ruby’d never smiled that way when he was around.

Before he’d decided whether to stay or go, Ruby turned and saw him. Her eyes went round as she tugged her mother’s arm. “Mama, dad’s here.” Lizzie’s head jerked up, eyes flying to where he stood in the door. Tommy watched as his wife frowned a bit, before turning to help Ruby get down from the table. He didn’t miss the disappointed look in his daughter’s eyes. “Can I go play, mama?” Lizzie nodded and Ruby was off, skirting around him before running through the house to what Tommy guessed was her room.

“What are you doing here, Tommy?”

He turned back to Lizzie, took in the way she nervously wiped flour from her hands and tried to smooth her hair. It was fine, her hair, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he stepped further into the kitchen. He looked at the wallpaper and the floors, the cabinets and the clean dishes by the sink. “You could have brought someone to help with the chores.”

“I didn’t want to take any of your people.”

He nodded slowly. “Just my daughter, then.”

“Ruby’s more mine than yours. And I won’t let you keep her from me. Not in that house.” He turned to look at Lizzie, _really_ look at her. He’d never seen Lizzie as fragile- not often at any rate. But he saw it in that moment. Saw the way she held herself. His mother had held herself that way. He heard it in her voice- strained from fear but trying not to let it show. He wondered when he’d become the person that scared Lizzie, so. When she’d stopped looking at him with admiration and trust.

“How do I fix this, Liz?” Her face fell in confusion. And God, wasn’t that just shit. He took in a shuddering breath. Let himself feel the ache of knowing just how far he’d fallen- just how much he’d fucked this up. “Lizzie, you have to tell me. I don’t know, so you have to tell me what to do.” But she was already shaking her head. Because he _did_ know. He knew. And he still didn’t think he could give it to her. Not that. “Liz…”

Lizzie stepped close to him. She rested her hand, hesitantly, on his arm. “You know, I used to think that if I could just get you to be kind to me, it’d be enough.” He bit his tongue. “Then I realized, you can’t. You can’t be kind to me. You can’t be soft with me. Because then I’d be a real wife to you and not just Ruby’s mother. If you were to be kind, it’d mean you gave her up. And you won’t.” He shook his head. Because it wasn’t a matter of _won’t_ . But Lizzie squeezed his arm a bit, let her nail bite him a tad. “You could. I know you, Tommy. You could.”

She moved away, hand falling from him at the last moment.

And how did he get here? How did he get to the point where she was slipping away without even moving? But she had to understand. He had to make her understand. It wasn’t _won’t_ , it was _can’t_. Because if he could stop hurting at the mention of Grace’s name, he would, wouldn’t he? If he could stop seeing her laid in that coffin, face too pale and skin too cold, he would. And, _fuck_ , if he could stop feeling so much fucking guilt every time he looked at Lizzie, every time he wondered why he couldn’t just let her and the Italian be. No man would choose to live with that. So it couldn’t be fucking _won’t_.

“It’s okay, Tommy,” she whispered. “I’ve learned. After all these years and all this hurt, I’ve learned. And I’m ready.” He shook his head. Held up a hand to stop whatever she would say next. But the words still came. “I’m ready to let it go- the love. So you don’t have to pretend anymore. You don’t have to try. I’ll be here with Ruby. And you’ll be there with Grace and Charlie. And we’ll be alright. We’ll, all of us, be alright.”


	3. III

Six months. Six months he told himself it was alright. Six months of ‘My wife’s visiting family,’ and ‘She sends her regards,’ and ‘She’s a bit ill at the moment’. Six months of sleeping in a cold bed. Six months of Charlie scowling at him and Ruby shying away from him. Six months of missing one wife for wanting the other. And the other, the _first_ , no longer showed herself to him. Gold and blue no longer haunted the corners of Arrow House or the recesses of his fragile mind.

Now he was standing outside of Lizzie’s house. The house he bought her. The house she’d fucking run away from him to. He didn’t knock. He’d tried it once and she’d ignored him. She’d called out the fucking locksmith to have the locks changed. He’d gotten a copy. He was Tommy fucking Shelby, people gave him what he wanted. But even with the key added to his others he hadn’t gone back. He hadn’t used it.

Today he did. He let himself in and slammed the door behind him. He wouldn’t sneak like a fucking thief in his own house. He wouldn’t tiptoe around to avoid his fucking wife. Not anymore. Lizzie rushed around the corner, gun drawn. John had bought her that gun. Arthur had taught her to shoot it. And Tommy was the first man she’d ever drawn it on.

“Christ, Tommy!” Her hand dropped to her side and she sagged with relief. “You couldn’t have knocked? Or called? Or anything?” He didn’t respond. But she didn’t expect him to. Lizzie set the gun on a side table. He walked over and picked it up, opening the chamber, and removed the rounds. Then he set the empty weapon back on the table. “What are you doing here, Tommy?”

He looked at his wife. He took in the flush of her cheeks and the way her hair fell about her shoulders. He let his eyes wander down her body slowly, noting the changes in her. She’d put on a little weight, lost a bit of that waifish look she tended to have. But it didn’t take away from her beauty. She was still lovely as ever.

He’d had time. He’d thought it through. He’d forced himself to face the past- face himself. And now he was facing Lizzie. “I want you to come home.” She didn’t even blink, Lizzie. “Come home, Lizzie. Things’ll be different this time, yeah? Better.” But she wasn’t looking at him anymore. No, she had her head down and her arms were folded across her chest. “Liz?”

“Get out.” He tensed. “Get out, Tommy. I won’t do this again. You hear me? You aren’t going to put me through this again.” She turned to walk away, but he caught her arm- pulled her back. Her hand slapped across his face. “I’m not your plaything, Thomas Shelby. I won’t be your plaything. Not anymore. I deserve better than that. And Ruby deserves better than watching her mom love a man who doesn’t even want her. I won’t be my mother, Tommy. I won’t be _your_ mother. And I won’t go back to living in Grace’s shadow.”

Tommy spun Lizzie around, half pushing, half dragging her to one of the bedrooms. He heard her cursing him. He felt her struggling. But it didn’t matter. None of it fucking mattered anymore. Because it’d been six fucking months, yeah? And it wouldn’t be another six between them. They’d fix this now, here, and fuck Lizzie for putting them in this damn situation. Fuck her for caring. Fuck her for loving him. Fuck her for making him feel shit he didn’t think was possible after Greta and France and Grace.

He kicked the door closed and pushed Lizzie down onto the bed. She scrambled up to her knees and turned, glaring at him all the while. “You aren’t gonna fuck me, Tommy. Not like this. Not when I don’t want it. You aren’t that far gone.”

He didn’t pause. He shrugged out of his coat and his suit jacket, let them fall to the floor. Then he worked the buttons of his shirt and tossed it to the side. He crawled onto the bed, hands pinning Lizzie down by the hips. “You’re right. I won’t force you. But you will listen. You will shut your fucking mouth and listen.” He tightened his grip, just a bit. But it was enough. It’d bruise and she’d have his mark on her for a day or two after this was done.

“Tommy….”

He heard the fear hidden in her voice. He heard it and he hated it, but he wouldn’t stop. Not now. Not when she was finally in his reach and he needed her to hear him. Not when he’d been missing her and hating her and fucking- No, he wouldn’t stop. Not until things were square between them. “I miss you.” She fought him harder. He bracketed her legs with his thighs, let his weight pin her further into the bed. “I fucking miss having you next to me at night. I miss breakfast with you and the kids. And the way you hum in the bath.”

“Stop it,” There were tears in her eyes, “Tommy, stop…”

His hands left her hips and grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the bed above her head. “I miss watching you run around with Ruby. I miss listening to you tell stories to Charlie. I miss your cunt. I miss your kiss. And I shouldn’t have to miss any of it. You’re my wife. I shouldn’t have to fucking drive across town to see you. Or pin you to the fucking bed to get you to listen to me.”

She was crying now, Lizzie. Sobs shook her. Tears soaked into the fabric beneath her head. And she _fought him_. Harder than he’d ever seen her fight anyone. And it hurt. Fucking hell, it hurt. Because it should never have come to this. He scooped her up and pulled her into his chest. His arms banded around her tight even as her fists beat against his back. “I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you!_ ”

“I know.” He pressed his face to her hair, tried to breathe through the pain crushing his chest and slipping into his veins. “I know, Lizzie. But I’m trying, alright? You gotta let me try, Liz. It’ll be better, yeah? Things’ll be better.” They would. They’d be better. Because he couldn’t have her hate him. Not her- not his Lizzie. “Please come back to me, Liz. Come home- to me and Charlie. Let me do things right this time.”

All of a sudden she went quiet. Her body went lax against him. He pulled back, loosened his hold, to see her face. But she was just still, her eyes bright with tears, watching him. She was watching and judging and weighing the truth against all his past lies. And she didn’t believe him, he knew it, could see it on her face. He didn’t blame her. But there was something else, too. Something sadder and wearier. A heavy sigh fell from her and her eyes closed. “Alright, Tommy, I’ll go back with you.” He pulled her close again- held her tight.

“I promise, Liz, things’ll be good.”

-

He took her to the ballet the night after she came back. Grace’s portrait was in his office when they got back. Lizzie froze on the stairs and stared at the empty space on the wall. He didn’t look- felt wrong not having Grace’s eyes gazing back at him. He expected her to ask, to mention it, to say _something_. But the words, the questions, never came. She started up the stairs again and that was the end of it.

He talked to her. At night. When they were lying in bed waiting for sleep. Wasn’t much, the words seemed to die in his throat more than they came out. But he tried. And she listened, Lizzie. He’d tell her about going to travel with the Romani. He’d tell her about horses he’d bought or sold. He told her about Ada as a kid. It was rambling more than anything, but she never turned away. No, she stayed up and she listened and she squeezed his hand when the words got stuck. And it was good, fucking hard sometimes, but good.

She’d send Ruby to him, now. If she fell and got a scrape or she wanted a sweet, Lizzie’d send their girl to him. It was awkward, for him and Ruby both. And he couldn’t say that he liked the interruptions. But he didn’t stop Lizzie sending and he didn’t stop Ruby coming. Because it’d been six months without her little voice. It’d been six months without her laugh or cry or pounding feet on the stairs. It wasn’t quiet, there was barely a moment’s peace with Ruby and Charlie together again. But it was better than the silence. It was better than looking at his daughter and seeing the light dim in her eyes.

He forced himself to touch his wife. Not fucking, that’d always been easy for him. But little touches- hand on a shoulder, fingers twined leaving the dinner table. It was awkward for him, being soft with Lizzie. Reminding himself it was alright, reminding himself that Lizzie deserved the kindness. Forcing himself not to think of Grace every time. It got easier, though- the touching.

And like most other things with Lizzie, the simplicity brought a bit of comfort.

-

Lizzie was asleep when he stepped into his bedroom.

He’d seen Lizzie sleeping before. He knew the way she curled into herself when he wasn’t next her. He knew the way she’d kick at the blankets when she was too warm. He knew, but he’d never quite noticed. He noticed now. Standing beside the bed, Tommy took in the way her face would shift with whatever thing she was seeing in her dreams. He took in the way she pulled his pillow closer, like she was reaching for _him._

He’d known- for years he’d known- that she loved him. He’d known what she’d do if he asked. And he’d used it. He’d used her. Because she was just Lizzie. Because she thought she loved him. Because she’d do anything for Tommy Shelby. He hadn’t cared before. He hadn’t looked at her and seen much valuable about her. Now, though, he could. He could see it. She was quick. She was tough. She knew when to be kind and when to be cold. She’d a backbone, his Lizzie, and claws.

Tommy shrugged out of his clothes and got into the bed. Lizzie reached out in her sleep, her hand resting on his chest. Putting an arm around Lizzie, Tommy pulled her close. She shifted closer to him. Sleep was the only time that Lizzie clung to him- sleep and fucking. Tucking Lizzie against his side, Tommy stared at the ceiling. He’d held Grace like this. And she had reached for him the way Lizzie was. Thinking of Grace brought the usual ache. But now, it was mixed- had been mixed for a while. Mixed with guilt for thinking of Grace while holding Lizzie.

He pulled Lizzie closer. She shifted, hummed a bit, and he hoped she didn’t wake. She did. Tommy forced himself still. Forced himself not to react, half hoping that she’d stay. But like every other time, he felt her tense. He felt her pull away, felt her move back to _her_ side. Like he’d be mad- like she’d trespassed. The thought came, that he could pull her back. The thought came that he could ask her to stay. But he didn't, because she’d do it. She’d come back and lay tense beside him until he couldn’t stand it and left.

“Just got in?”

“Yeah.”

“You eat today?”

No. “Yeah.”

She was silent a minute. But it was the loud kind, the one filled with so many words. Words he knew even though he’d never heard them. He didn’t look- didn’t need to- he knew she was biting her lip. And damn her for knowing him so well. Damn him for knowing her so well. Fuck it all that even with the knowing they still couldn’t get it right half the time.

“Gonna go check on Ruby.”

He almost reached for her, almost pulled her back to him.

But he’d held her to him. For years. He’d held her. He’d kept her. He’d fucked her and turned her out and put his kid in her. He’d married her and hated her and nearly lost her. And through it all he’d never let go. Never let her move more that arm’s length from him. Words like knives and hands like broken glass. But he’d held her. He’d pulled her in, and kept her close.

And she was still bleeding from all his sharp edges.

-

“Night, Charlie. I love you.”

Tommy paused outside of Charlie’s room. He knew Lizzie tucked the kids in after the nanny. He knew she told stories and hummed lullabies. He knew that Charlie went to her for scraped knees and bad moods and sick bellies. He knew that Lizzie loved the boy. But still, it surprised him to hear it plain.

“Night, Mum- I mean Lizzie. Love you, too.”

It was odd. It was so odd. The way the pain came. The way it flooded through him. The way he couldn’t stop it or slow it. The way it held him paralyzed and cold and empty. The way he could see, he could fucking _see_ the way Grace’s face would fall. The way he could hear the sharp gasp she’d give at hearing what he’d just heard.

It was strange. So fucking strange how the anger came. Burning in his veins and leaving the taste of smoke and ash in his mouth. The way he felt hate rising and rising and driving out every bit of sanity he’d managed to keep hold of. Because how? How was it that Lizzie, fucking _Lizzie_ , was the one giving his son goodnight hugs and kisses. How was it that Grace, his perfect Grace, was nothing but bones rotting in a coffin? How was it that Charlie could forget, even for a moment, the angel who’d birthed him?

It was fucking exhausting. Because as quick as the anger and the hate and the pain came- it was all gone. Because why wouldn’t it be Lizzie? Who the fuck else would it be _but_ Lizzie. Not even to his second birthday and Lizzie was already coming every night. It was Lizzie’s desk the nanny brought Charlie to when he came to the office. It was Lizzie who he reached for when he was sleepy. It was Lizzie who he found when he wanted a sweet. God, it was fucking Lizzie there with him when he’d a fever and Tommy’d been too fucking gone on dope to do more than breathe and keep from falling over.

“He didn’t mean it.” Head snapping up, Tommy met green eyes. He wondered how long she’d been there. Wondered how to get that nervous, sad look out of her eyes. Hated that he was more used to it, than her smiles now days. He ran a hand down his face. Then did it again, harder. “I’ll talk to him. Tomorrow. Remind him-“ She shrugged, eyes dropping to her shoes, and it made something crack inside of Tommy. His hand moved to hold hers. She didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing. He shoved his hand in his pocket. 

“No need. I’ll do it.” They both let out a deep breath. The demon that sounded like his father mocked, ‘ _Fucking whore, trying to replace your real lady.’_ The demon that sounded like his mother soothed, ‘ _It’s a good, strong woman who can love another woman’s child.’_ The voice that sounded like his own said, “Why? Why do you do it?” He hated himself for asking. Hated the confused look on his wife’s face that meant he’d have to explain. “You love him like he’s yours.”

“He needed it and I could do it. Seems wrong to make a kid feel unloved just ‘cuz his mother was…his mother.” And again that stab of pain, that rush of anger, that burning hate. Because what did it say about him that he’d struggled to love his own kid because of her mother, when Lizzie could love Charlie in spite of Grace. “And…” She paused and Tommy vacillated between curiosity and unease. “I guess maybe… Maybe I poured so much love into Charlie, because I couldn’t give it to you. Because he’d take it and want it, when you don’t.”

It'd been weeks since he’d walked away from Lizzie first.

He walked away that night.

-

He sat at her grave. He sat, side pressed to her gravestone, and watched flames dance in the fire across from him. His fingers rolled the little brown bottle back and forth. “I shouldn’t.” He knew he shouldn’t. He’d promised himself. He’d promised Lizzie, even though she didn’t know it. But… “I know it’s not you. Feels like you, smells like you, sounds just fucking like you.” He held up the bottle. The top was off and the bitterness was coating his tongue before he could talk himself out of any of this.

He sat, for a long time. Or maybe not. Perhaps it just felt long. Like waiting for water to boil. He didn’t know, did he? Not with his head going cloudy. Not with the fire leaping and dancing and creating pictures in the flames. But for however long he sat, it was nice. Nice, not to have so much in his head. Nice not to have to feel so much and think so much and be so _much._

It was a surprise, after so long without, to feel her touch. It was a shock, but he leaned into it without a second of hesitation. Because this, _this_ , was what he’d been missing and aching for. “You’re not real.” A quiet hum, then a kiss to his cheek. “I miss you. Still- after all this time.” Another kiss. “It’s hurting her. Lizzie. It’s hurting her, and…” He didn’t want to hurt her anymore. “I love her, Grace. I love her, but I’ve done wrong by her. I’ve done wrong by my Ruby, too. Even our boy. Missed you so much I could barely look at him some days. Missed you so much I drowned out the pain. But I drowned out everyone else, too.”

The hand that had been running through his hair, paused. The cool lips that had been resting at his throat slid away. It was like when they’d lie in bed together. His head on her shoulder, her lips pressed to his neck. “So then… You’ve come to say goodbye. You’ve come to leave me.” And it hurt, hearing her sweet voice say those words. It hurt, but he nodded. Because he couldn’t keep living with a ghost. He couldn’t have one foot in the grave and his heart already there. Lizzie deserved more from him. Ruby and Charlie needed more of him than that. And Grace…

“You left me first. You said goodbye first.”

There were no more words. Her hands ran through his hair. Her cool lips left kisses along his jaw and his cheek. He watched the flames. He listened to the wind in the trees. He let himself remember the feeling of her against him. But when his mind cleared, when the hands faded away, when the fire died, when she was gone… He stood up. He walked away. He didn’t look back.

It ached, but he knew it would fade.

This time he’d _let_ it fade.


End file.
